Penny for a Kiss
by drama-princess
Summary: Survival, love, and memory become strangely blurred for prisoner-of-war Ginny, who cradles a single gold galleon in her hand to remember who she is.


Penny for a Kiss  
by drama-princess  
  
A/N: This is a merely little character-centric piece written in honor of a challenge by She's A Star, myself, and Bohemian Storm. The idea was to write a vignette starring your favorite character that involved something that they couldn't control and a galleon. And, of course, I was listening to angsty girl-rock at the time, so it went beyond my control. My apologies for those who don't appreciate Dark Lords.   
  
All characters and situations are property of their respective owners.  
  
~-~  
  
She couldn't see the sky from her room.   
  
Ginny knew she was lucky to even catch the hazy glimpses of sunlight her barred window allowed her. Like now, when the faint glow of a winsome sunset gleamed in between the crisscross of the metal. Furtive light that dripped on her face when she pressed her fingers against the glass.   
  
She knew she was lucky. Somehow that made it worse. She thought about Percy and the rags and the filth he must be living in. That was what he must hate most about his life, she thought sometimes. The dirt and the smell of too many bodies pressed together.   
  
Percy, why didn't you. . .   
  
She didn't finish the thought. Her lord had told her to keep her mind within this room. Things would go easier for her then, he had told her as he eased her back into the perfumed water of the bath. He had draped her long white limbs around the brass coils and followed her there, the fine hairs on his arms scraping against her torso. Things would be easy if she didn't fight the drugs and the fear, if she let the lavender pillows bury her in the heart of her white bed.   
  
She didn't anymore, really. Instead she rested her hot forehead against the cool window and turned her galleon in her fingers. It was her token and He hadn't meant to let her keep it. But she'd begged so prettily, He'd told her, that He had to let her keep it.   
  
A gold coin in her hand, and she'd been so thankful that she'd buried her face in His dark robes. He'd rested his hand very sweetly on the back of her neck and whispered that he'd have to bring her little presents more often. He did after that, taking her embroidered slippers in striped silver boxes and tiny gold chains that slid out of their rustling tissue bags. But even though she wore the heart-shaped locket and the white satin shawl, it was the galleon that she turned over and over with her fingertips. It whispered like Harry to her.   
  
I want you to have this, he had said, putting the coin in her hand. He'd found it in the bluish snow outside the Three Broomsticks.   
  
What should I buy with it? she'd asked playfully. A kiss?  
  
Memory, Ginny thought, was such a silly thing sometimes.  
  
The door swung open softly. The wood was painted white and stamped with faded flowers. Ginny lifted her chin as she heard the tiny clink of the bottles. She hated the drugs, even when they were hidden within the spiced wine. Perhaps if she was very, very good tonight, and did all his favorite things. If she murmured all his honeyed nothings with adoration (how much of it was induced by the dizzying potions?) perhaps He would tell her a little story about one of her brothers, and how _good _Ron was being to help him clean up the nasty prisoners like that. All in exchange for seeing Hermione fed, too!  
  
He said, and His eyes were almost tender as he saw her standing mutely before Him. His hand trailed lightly over her ginger hair, tied in loose curls with a satin ribbon. She wore her ivory lace robe and gown, just like He wanted. Following the soft guide of his hands, she perched on the edge of the bed as He knelt before her. A few bruises from the long, slim cane He carried had taught her to be pliant in His hands. The third day in this room he had presented her with a bargain. If she cooperated, He would be kind.   
  
She used to idly wonder what he preferred. Was it better for His conscience to stroke her skin gently? Or was it some vestige of leftover what-could-have-been. But now she didn't wonder, she just felt pathetically grateful that He chose to do this to her.   
  
Silly girl, He murmured without anger as His hands found the galleon still clutched in her hand. You know you don't need this, sweetheart. I'll give you whatever you want. He took the coin from her and held it up to the light. A kiss? he asked, pressing his lips against the hollow in her white throat.  
  
She swallowed. I know, she said, putting her hand on His chest. He kissed her lips, her chin, her eyelids that sparkled with diamond dust and unshed. I like it because it reminds me of that.   
  
It was the right thing to say, because He dropped the galleon carefully on her bedside table. Oh, Ginny, He said, His eyes shining as he slid His hand under her robe and began massaging her milk-white thighs. You're so perfect. So beautiful. And someday I'll be able to take you out of your cupboard and put you on throne.   
  
Her eyes left the golden coin for a minute and focused on his forehead. The scar that burned there despite all he had done to remove it.   
  
A penny for a kiss.  
  
A mistress for the Dark Lord.  
  
_I love you too, Harry._  
  
  



End file.
